Switch
by Rachel500
Summary: Abby just can't let someone else be killed but the next victim is surprising in all kinds of different ways.


NCIS is somebody's else's, probably Bellisarius Productions/Paramount/CBS.

**Author's Note:** Pairing: Tony/OCs, pre-Tony/Gibbs, past McGee/Abby. Warning for BDSM related aspects, mention of torture and serial killers. Written in response to a Thursday Vignette over on Rough Trade to practice my writing. Prompt is December 6th and a picture of two people sitting as described late in the fic.

**Switch**

The Dungeon was one of the safest BDSM clubs in D.C. and Abby felt her breath leave her body in a rush as she stepped into the main room. She took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The comfortable booths around the room were already full and the dance floor was busy.

Abby adjusted her leather cuff and made her way through the crowd towards the bar. She garnered some interested looks as she passed by. She knew she looked good. Her black skinny jeans looked painted on; the black corset was tight and made the most of her modest bust. The diagonal cut of the leather strap of her small purse across her body just emphasised her pale bare shoulders. Her black hair was slicked back leaving her spider tattoo standing out starkly on her unadorned neck. Her lipstick was dark and matched her painted nails.

She figured most of the crowd would take her for a Domme. That was fine. Most of the time she preferred to be in control. But Abby was flexible and occasionally Switching was fun.

She ordered a Mocktail. Something that looked alcoholic to help her blend in. She watched the bartender make it and once she'd paid and the drink was in her hand, she turned her attention to the crowd.

Her eyes scanned for a likely victim.

The previous victims of the serial killer NCIS was hunting had all been male and likely submissive; young Navy officers in their late twenties or early thirties; fit but not steroid fit, more like naturally athletic. They had all had brown spiky hair and pretty boy features. Someone had a type.

Abby sipped her drink through the plastic straw and winced at the environmental waste of it. She let her gaze drift around the room and almost started at the sight of a silver haired older man in the corner. She flushed as the man turned toward her and she realised it really wasn't Gibbs.

Thank God.

Gibbs was going to kill her, she mused. He had explicitly left instructions for them not to go to the clubs.

Abby sipped her drink and waited for her racing heart to slow down. She knew Gibbs was right. They were waiting on a Marine arriving who fitted their serial killer's type so they could run a sting but…all of Abby's evidence pointed to the killer taking someone that night. Gibbs hadn't liked the idea of letting someone else get taken, she knew that, but he had been resigned to it.

As had McGee.

Abby sighed. She and McGee had dated before he had joined the team and he still hadn't outgrown his puppyish adoration. Rule 12, Abby instructed herself briskly. This was why Gibbs had the rule to never date a co-worker.

Well.

That and the clearly passionate affair that he'd once had with the Director. Abby figured they'd had a tumultuous partnership.

Abby shook the thought away, her mind wandering back to the team.

Officer David hadn't seemed to care if someone else got murdered. Abby really disliked how she continued to extol the virtues of Mossad.

Abby missed Kate.

Kate would have cared like Abby cared. She would have kept working the case, same as Abby.

She was going to find the killer, call Gibbs and the rest of the team, and save some poor guy from being tortured and killed.

Her eyes alighted on a dancer. He was gorgeous. He checked all the right boxes for the physical profile. He wore a geeky t-shirt proclaiming his love for the periodic table which made Abby smile. His jeans were well-fitted, showing off his strong legs and shapely ass. But another hint of his quirkiness was in his shoes; sneakers with a flower print. He turned and she saw the flash of a dog-tag chain around his neck.

Military, Abby thought, checking off the final box.

The silver-haired Dom she had spotted before sidled into the view and started to dance closely with the dancer, circling around to stand behind him and pull him flush into his own body. They swayed and rocked together.

It was hypnotic.

"They look beautiful together, don't they?"

Abby started, almost spilling her drink. Her head snapped around to the woman who had sneaked up on her left.

She was pretty; small and blonde. She wore jeans and a t-shirt; casual and simple like she didn't have to try. Her make-up was pristine; her hair beautifully dyed. She reminded Abby of Debbie Harry.

Abby smiled to cover her discomfort at being surprised. "They do look beautiful." She gestured out to the dance floor. "You know them?"

"The Dom, Carl, is mine," Blondie replied.

Abby glanced at her and saw the flash of a collar; a thin strap of brown leather around Blondie's neck. She frowned. "You don't mind him, uh…"

"Playing with others," Blondie replied with a grin, "kind of our thing."

Across the room Carl waved a hand. For a second Blondie looked satisfied, like a cat who'd gotten the canary satisfied. Abby blinked, and the woman was smiling easily and giving a shrug.

"Got to go, honey," Blondie said. She walked away, corralling the two men on the dance floor and heading to the back exit which led to the private rooms.

Abby breathed out slowly. It hadn't been a good idea to come to the club, she mused, as her eyes followed after the trio. What had she been thinking?

It wasn't like they had any leads. The killer had hit different clubs and the evidence was all confused. Whip marks which suggested a tall man; shallow knife wounds inflicted from a different hand and a different height. Maybe someone ambidextrous or…

Abby watched as the back door closed on the trio.

Or.

Or the knife wounds had been inflicted by a different person.

Two killers.

Abby's heart started to beat wildly. She set her drink down on the bar without looking and started towards the back door.

There had been a female blonde hair at the first crime scene, but it had been a public playroom and they'd discounted it because of the traces of _grey_ male hair on the bodies.

Abby was betting she knew who both belonged to…she reached for her phone and called Gibbs.

"Gibbs."

"Gibbs, it's Abby, I'm at The Dungeon," Abby said quickly, "I need back-up. Possible suspects with the next victim in imminent danger."

"On my way," Gibbs growled and hung up.

She breathed in deeply as she hit the back door. She hurried down the corridor, pausing swiftly at each door to listen, trying to find…

Her fourth pause hit dirt.

"Hey, I said my safe-word!" Pretty Boy was protesting.

There was a crack of a whip and a pained cry.

Abby took out her gun, lifted her leg and kicked the door down. "NCIS! Everyone on the ground! NOW!"

Blondie launched herself at Abby, knife in hand.

Abby immediately fired her weapon, catching Blondie in the shoulder. She went down in a heap, groaning. Abby quickly returned her gun to Carl.

He held Pretty Boy in front of him like a shield; the whip was looped around Pretty's neck.

Pretty Boy had been stripped to just his jeans, and they were open, the buckle of his belt hanging loose. His hands were tied together in front of him. His chest was heaving as he panted for breath. Any appreciation Abby had for the defined muscles on show faded as she took in a shallow cut over one rib, the bruise on his temple and the blood at the corner of his mouth which was already staring to swell.

Abby focused on Carl. "Step away from him."

"You're going to let me leave with him," Carl snarled, "if you don't, I'll kill him."

"You'll kill him anyway," Abby replied calmly. "I can put a bullet in your head before you strangle him with the whip, and my back-up is on the way while yours is down."

Carl's eyes were drawn immediately to Blondie and…

Pretty Boy moved; he drew something from his belt buckle and slammed it into the Carl's thigh, stomped in the guy's instep, before turning and hitting him in the face with the heels of his hands. He stumbled away, backing into a far corner.

Carl growled and grasped the knife sticking out of his thigh. He yanked it out and went for Pretty Boy…

Abby shot him.

There was a commotion behind her and Abby turned to find two large bouncers, wide-eyed.

"NCIS," Abby quickly lowered her weapon and showed her ID. A few moments later, one bouncer was keeping back the gawking crowds while the other went to greet Gibbs.

Abby entered the room; she secured the woman, and checked the male was dead. The amount of blood saturating his jeans suggested he wouldn't have lived long even if Abby hadn't put a bullet in him. She made her way carefully to the trembling figure of the almost-victim.

She sat down beside him and untied his hands, setting the material aside as evidence. "Hey."

"Hey," Pretty Boy rallied. "Thanks for the save."

"I'm Abby," Abby gently looped her arms through his; she wasn't surprised when he latched on. "I'm with NCIS."

"Me too," Pretty Boy replied. "I mean, I start there on Monday." He laughed shortly. "I thought I'd come out and play off some nerves and…" he waved at the dead guy.

Abby winced.

"DiNozzo?!" Gibbs barked from the doorway.

DiNozzo practically lit up as he looked over at Abby's boss. "Gibbs."

"I knew you were going to be trouble, Lieutenant Commander," Gibbs sighed as he walked in, careful of his steps and the evidence.

"Unfair, Gibbs," DiNozzo argued.

Gibbs crouched down beside him and placed a hand on the back of DiNozzo's neck. "You doing OK, Tony?"

Tony nodded. "Just…" he grimaced, "I'm covered in evidence." He sighed. "I really like these sneakers."

"They've got flowers on them," Gibbs commented.

"Exactly!" Tony looked up at Gibbs through long eyelashes Abby could have killed for. Tony was blatantly flirting with Gibbs and Gibbs…was letting him.

Abby watched the by-play with amusement.

Gibbs glanced over as though suspecting her enjoyment.

Abby cleared her throat and turned back to DiNozzo – to Tony. "Special Agent Abby Scuito; it's nice to meet you, Lieutenant Commander DiNozzo." She paused. "Which team are you joining?"

"Forensics," Tony said. "I'm the new Head of Forensics." He shivered.

Gibbs frowned. "McGee! Go and find the medics."

"On it, Boss!" McGee immediately turned back around from the doorway where he had been about to enter.

"We'll get you squared away, Tony," Gibbs promised.

Abby lifted an eyebrow at the blatant comforting. Tony was practically melting into Gibbs' touch in response to it.

Tony smiled at Gibbs; shy and sweet. Gibbs smiled back.

Abby swallowed down a bubble of laughter.

Gibbs looked over at her with irritation. "What?"

"Rule 12?" Abby said sweetly.

Gibbs shrugged. "Rule 5."

Abby started smiling as Tony looked at them both in confusion.

"Is this some kind of NCIS code or…"

"Gibbs' rules," Abby said. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you know them." She had a feeling she and DiNozzo were going to become fast friends. "Besides, you already know the most important one."

"What's that?" asked Tony.

Abby looked over at their serial killer and the knife he'd pulled out of his leg. She grinned broadly. "Rule 9; always carry a knife."

fin.


End file.
